The Case of the Guardian Angel
by BelleLitteraire
Summary: A bloodless whodunit: Dot and Hugh investigate the identity of their mysterious benefactor.
1. Chapter 1

It was a mild autumn morning in Melbourne. On most of these mornings, Dot and Mr. Butler would have breakfast together before he prepared a tray of toast and strong coffee that Dot would take up to Phryne. However, on this particular morning, Phryne had awakened much earlier than usual, and joined them at the cozy breakfast table. Phryne wasn't your typical mistress; no one in her household, from Janey to the butler, was ever made to feel the strict boundaries between mistress and servants. But despite Phryne's attempts to establish an egalitarian household, each knew his or her place and still behaved with a sense of decorum and deference to Phryne.

When that mistress of the house, clad in her bright red silk dragon robe, languidly slipped into a chair, Mr. Butler darted straight up to get a cup and saucer for Miss Fisher. For a split second he thought about giving her a cup of tea with a little added heart starter but decided instead to pour her usual Hellenic beverage.

"Thank you, Mr. Butler," she drawled. "Please, do finish your breakfast."

"Already finished, Miss Fisher," replied the ever-proper butler, even though there still lay half a waffle and a heap of scrambled eggs on his plate. "Will check on the morning post now."

As Mr. Butler left the kitchen, Phryne pulled his breakfast plate over and started on the eggs. "What's on your agenda today, Dottie? More work on your glory-box?"

Dot blushed. "Ah, I've got some mended shirts to deliver to the church this morning, and a meeting with Father Grogan to secure the wedding date. Then I'm getting fitted for my dress this afternoon, and I'm supposed to ring the florist back about my bouquet and the church decorations."

"Lucky for you, my dear, I won't need you at all today," winked Phryne.

"Oh, but Miss," gasped Dot, turning even more scarlet, "of course I wouldn't neglect my duties to you, or to anything case related. If you need me for something particular today, I can re-schedule my appointments."

"Nonsense!" replied Phryne breezily, and reached for the small pitcher of syrup to pour on what remained of Mr. Butler's waffle. "I do hope that you're not single handedly planning this wedding. You are giving Constable Collins something to do? It's his wedding, too, after all."

Dot smiled and said proudly, "Hugh is in charge of planning our wedding holiday."

Phryne smirked. "In that case, I better loan him more books…."

Dot frowned, not understanding. "Pardon, Miss?"

Before Phryne could come back with an airy wave and a never-you-mind, Mr. Butler reappeared with a silver salver on which were two small piles of envelopes. He presented the salver first to Phryne, who sifted through her post in under thirty seconds, and then to Dot. On the top of Dot's pile was a cream-colored envelope. Her brows knitted together as she read the letter and then exclaimed, "Oh my goodness!"

"Bad news?" asked Phryne over her cup.

"Just the opposite. Someone's just given me and Hugh five thousand pounds as a wedding present."

"Someone? You mean you don't know who this generous person is?"

Dot studied the loopy scrawl at the end of the typed message. "It's signed 'Your guardian angel.' I don't recognize this handwriting at all."

"Hm! Do you mind?"

"Of course not, Miss," Dot said, handing the letter over to her mistress.

Phryne quickly assimilated the contents of the letter, which began with congratulations on Dot's upcoming nuptials, enumerated the fine qualities of her fiancé, and concluded with the promise of five thousand, to be disbursed on her wedding day.

"Who has that kind of money, I wonder?" Dot mused aloud, and then gave her mistress a pointed look.

"Dot, you know how fond I am of you. But really, I think you know me well enough to know that this is simply not my style. If I'm going to give you and the young constable a gift I'm going to give it straight out and not hide behind a nom de plume. Especially one like 'guardian angel,'" she scoffed. "No offense," she added cheekily.

Dot knew that Miss Fisher was tolerant and respectful of her religious beliefs so she wasn't offended. "No worries, Miss. So it isn't you?"

"I wish I could take credit for this generous sum, but no. I can say that this is no ordinary writing paper. See here?" she said, holding the paper up to the light of the kitchen window. "There's a watermark of the paper's manufacturer. I happen to know that he caters exclusively to the well born of Melbourne society."

Dot marveled at her mistress' powers of deduction just by analyzing a letter. "Okay, obviously this person knows me and Hugh well enough to know that we're going to be married. But we don't know anyone who's rich enough to do this except you, Miss Fisher."

"Well, there's Aunt Prudence. I recognize the watermark from her own stationery. Notice, too, that the envelope bears no stamp or postmark. What might that mean?"

Dot thought for a moment. "It means this letter wasn't posted." At Miss Fisher's beaming expression, she continued, "It means someone hand delivered the message."

Mr. Butler cleared his throat. "If I may, Miss, I added this letter to the pile for Dot. I found it separate from the post that was delivered."

"Did you see anyone else besides the postman this morning, Mr. Butler?" Phryne asked.

"No one, Miss. However, I did see Mr. Bert and Mr. Cec, who were arriving home from their evening shift at the port."

"Maybe they saw who might have delivered this," said Dot.

"Well, then, my dear," smiled Phryne impishly, "you better add one more thing to your to-do list today."

**x-x**

At the St. Kilda police station, Dot spent a half hour with Hugh at his desk behind the counter. She had brought him lunch and while he ate, told him about their mysterious benefactor and about Miss Fisher's deductions. Hugh hungrily bit into one of the thick ham and cheese sandwiches and rummaged through the basket to offer her the other one. Dot shook her head. "How do you think I'll fit into my dress if I gorge on that before I go?"

Hugh smiled sheepishly and swallowed. "Can I see the letter?"

Dot handed him the note and the envelope. "Tell me if you recognize the handwriting on the signature."

Hugh shook his head. "Nope. You don't have any rich relatives I don't know about yet, do you?"

"No. Do you?"

"Not a one. So it isn't Miss Fisher…."

"She swears it isn't her. It could be her aunt Prudence, she thinks. She says she uses the same kind of writing paper."

Hugh inspected the watermark closely. "Good place to start. When my shift's over, perhaps we can pay Mrs. Stanley a visit. Can I hang on to this?"

"Sure. I'll also talk to Bert and Cec when I get back home, see if they saw anyone who was by the house this morning."

"Good thinking, Miss Williams," Hugh grinned.

"Imagine, Hugh, of all the cases we've ever worked on, perhaps this might be the most important one yet. After all, it's not every day one discovers who your guardian angel is." She rose and slipped on her gloves, and then leaned in to kiss Hugh on the cheek. "I've got to run to the dressmaker's now. I'll see you later."


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thank you for your kind comments on the first chapter! Mind you, this won't compare to the wonderfully written Jack/Phryne cases but I hope this entertains as well._

* * *

Through his open office door, Detective Inspector Jack Robinson watched Dot and Hugh. Something like wistfulness came over him as he was reminded of his own youth, before the war. Before the horrors of his experience changed him and Rosie fell out of love with him. Watching the ebullient young couple made him hopeful that he might someday find love again, and to find a little bit of happiness along the way.

As he noticed Hugh making his way towards his office, he snatched a case file on his desk and made a pretense of reading the report.

Hugh knocked. "Sir?"

"Yes, Collins, what is it?"

"I was wondering if you might be needing me past my shift?"

"Ah," DI Robinson said with a sly grin. "How do you get any work done, Collins? Don't think I didn't see Miss Williams here a few minutes ago. You've made plans with her this evening, I presume."

It was on the tip of his tongue to retort that Miss Fisher was in _his_ office plenty more times and often wondered himself how _he_ got any work done, but Hugh bit it back. "Yes, sir. She received a surprising letter this morning. Someone's given us a very nice wedding present and we're trying to figure out who this benefactor might be."

"Don't look at me. I haven't gotten you a gift yet."

"No, sir, I'm sure you wouldn't call yourself a guardian angel," and he relayed the details of the letter and the princely sum.

Robinson thought a moment. "Collins, it might not be from just a single donor. The religious tone of the signature might mean the gift came from Miss Williams' parish friends. It's possible that the ladies at her church took up a collection."

"But they are her friends. Why would they not tell her that it's from them?"

Robinson shrugged. "Maybe they want to follow the example of the humble of heart and keep their good deed anonymous."

**x-x**

Bert and Cec were in the garage, located behind Miss Fisher's Victorian mansion, polishing their new taxicab. Since receiving it from Miss Fisher, they used it more often on Miss Fisher's case work than for its original purpose, but they were fortunately able to earn a steady income as wharfies. They were arguing about the amount of cargo they were pilfering last night at the port and siphoning off to the local chapter of the International Workers of the World. When they saw Dot approaching they clammed up.

"How are you, Dottie?" waved Bert. Cec simply tugged at his cap and continued buffing the car's exterior.

"Hi boys," Dot cheerfully called out, shading her eyes from the glare of the sun. "Are you off to the port tonight, or are you actually going to take the cab out?"

"We might just be putting the taxicab out for hire tonight, don't you think, Bert?" Cec said with a sideways glance at his partner.

Bert ignored him and focused his attention on Dot. "Well, does Miss Fisher have an assignment for us?"

"Oh, no," she replied. "She seems out of sorts lately, but I don't think a case is keeping her preoccupied at the moment."

Bert smiled and shook out his rag. "So then, tell us about your wedding preparations. How are they coming along?"

"Oh, you know, everything's in a whirl with this and that to think of before the big day. But I wanted to ask you whether you saw someone at the house this morning." She told them of her receipt of the letter.

Cec whistled. "You've gotten notice from a right silver tail there, Dot. That's more money than we could ever hope to make in a year driving the taxicab and hauling cargo besides."

Talking with working-class blokes about so much money at her disposal made Dot feel a bit self-conscious and she reached up to clutch her crucifix around her neck. "It is very generous," she admitted. "But I believe Hugh and I wouldn't be frivolous about using it. That's why we're keen to know who it is—such a person deserves our personal gratitude.

"So you didn't see anyone? Besides perhaps the postman?" She directed her appeal to Cec, who had sharper eyes and an almost photographic memory, very handy when assisting in Miss Fisher's cases.

"I didn't see anyone," piped Bert.

Cec frowned, searching his memory. "I only saw Mr. Butler. He was gathering the post from the box and then he went back into the house."

Dot pursed her lips, disappointed. She was no closer to finding out who this person was than she was this morning.

**x-x**

The scent of freshly baked bread filled the kitchen as Mr. Butler pulled it from the oven. Dot was chopping fresh vegetables for a cold collation and paused every so often to stir the pot of potato soup simmering on the stovetop. The warm cooking smells filled Hugh with happiness as he cradled his hot cup of tea, a plate of ginger snaps in front of him. He had just accepted an invitation to stay for supper, and Mr. Butler, in turn, told the couple that he had just taken the liberty of making an appointment for them to see Mrs. Prudence Stanley at her townhouse tomorrow afternoon. So with nothing else but a hearty meal ahead of him to think about, Hugh's thoughts turned to the five thousand pounds. "What do you reckon we could use all that money towards?" he asked Dot.

Dot stopped stirring and considered. "We could use it to pay some of the expenses, maybe use the rest towards setting up house."

Mr. Butler harrumphed. "What is money for but for spending? Use it for a lavish wedding tour!"

"Do you think so, Mr. Butler?" asked Dot.

"I don't see why not. You're always going on about experiencing China, Dot. Wouldn't you want to see and try all the things that Miss Fisher and Miss Camellia Lu have been talking about?"

"That's right. Besides," Hugh added with a sly grin, "I wouldn't mind seeing you in one of those red silk dragon robes."

"Hugh!" Dot giggled.

Mr. Butler added encouragingly, "I say go win some at fantan."

Remembering her conversation with Bert and Cec, Dot objected, "But whoever gave this to us might want us to use the money responsibly. A guardian angel wouldn't want us to go wild and waste it on useless things."

"Well," began Mr. Butler, "in my opinion, you only have one grand wedding tour. When Mrs. Butler was alive, bless her soul, before she was Mrs. Butler, someone had given us just such a gift. We never found out who it was, but we felt certain that he or she would have wanted us to enjoy our honeymoon before real life settled upon us. And we did enjoy our tour of Europe," he said contemplatively. "I consider that time one of the happiest of my life."

She looked at Hugh. "Well, what do you say?"

"I say it would be foolish to disregard Mr. Butler's most sage advice," Hugh laughed.

"Then it's decided," Dot declared. "We're off to see the Great Wall."


	3. Chapter 3

"Hugh, watch out!" screeched Dot.

The taxicab roared through the bustling city streets as Hugh maneuvered the borrowed vehicle past oncoming traffic and rushing passerby scurrying to get out of the wet. Every swish of the wiper blades seemed a failed endeavor, for the rain pelted the windshield mercilessly. Beside him, Dot gripped the seat as he drove over an uneven stretch of road and tried not to let out another terrified squeal. Her eyes widened as Hugh suddenly swerved, narrowly missing an old man whose pushcart was stuck in a rut.

Seeing Dot's petrified expression, he raised an eyebrow. "I'm not that bad a driver, am I?"

"Let's just say that every time I'm in a car with Miss Fisher my life flashes before my eyes, so this is nothing new. But why are we in such a rush?"

"Because I have only one hour's break and Inspector Robinson will give me an earful if I don't come back to the station on time."

"I could have taken the trolley to see Mrs. Stanley on my own," Dot wailed. "And likely stayed alive."

"Not in this rain," Hugh said firmly, squinting through the watery curtain. "And besides, if we're going to use the money for a tour of China, then I ought to know who's given it to us, right?" He cast a sideways glance at her and shifted the gears. "But if you don't trust my driving, I'll slow down, sweetheart."

"Thank you," Dot sighed with relief.

Mrs. Stanley's townhouse was located in a posh neighborhood, where on the surface it appeared that very little crime invaded this part of the city. Neat rows of houses, all uniform in their height and elegance, were distinct in their pastel colors and their manicured courtyards. The trees that lined the thoroughfare were on the turn, crisping at the edges and taking on a new palette of amber, russet, and crimson. Leaves fluttered from the shedding treetops, forming a slippery carpet over the pavement. Hugh pulled the taxicab to an open curb spot a few yards from Mrs. Stanley's residence.

"Right, let's wait for the rain to let up a bit," he said, looking at his watch. "While we've got some time, let's go over our list of suspects…."

Dot giggled. "Suspects?"

"Okay, how about 'most likely persons'? Inspector Robinson says that we might consider that a group, and not one person might have given us the money. What about your church sewing circle? Do you think they might have taken up an anonymous collection for us?"

"Unlikely. We don't even manage to raise this much money in one fundraiser. Besides, the ladies already told me that they would be handling the reception. That includes the church hall and food and music, so this wouldn't have come from them."

"We can count out Bert and Cec—they don't believe in accumulating wealth…."

"And it certainly isn't my folks, or yours. None of your friends would have so much."

"What about Mr. Butler?" Hugh suggested.

Dot frowned, considering. "Mr. Butler? I didn't think of him."

"I guess he might be too much of a long shot."

"Well, he does seem to be very economical, doesn't spend so much on himself. I overheard him one time asking Mr. Lin Chung about how best to invest in imports and exports."

"Even if he had so much at his fingertips I wouldn't expect him to grant us five thousand. Well, we'll see what Mrs. Stanley has to say, then." He peered up at the sky. "The rain doesn't seem to be letting up anytime soon. I'll be getting that tongue lashing from Inspector Robinson for sure."

On impulse, Dot surveyed their surroundings and the near-empty street. Satisfied that the downpour of rain was opaque enough, she took off her hat and brazenly pulled Hugh over to her side of the car. With a mischievous twinkle in her eye, she murmured, "I'm going to have to make it worth your while then, Constable. I think it's your turn to get your heart rate up."

**x-x**

As Mrs. Prudence Stanley sipped her tea, she eyed Phryne's nervous maid and the boyish member of the local constabulary nibbling on cachous with a disapproving glare. (Really, they seemed to be getting younger and younger these days—no wonder Phryne had to get her hands dirty solving God-knows-what if what the public had to contend with were law enforcers who looked barely out of short trousers.) No one of their class had ever been invited to sit—let alone take tea—with her in this parlor. She was astonished to learn from her butler this morning that she had an appointment with this young couple, but suppressed the instinctive urge to cancel. To do that on the morning of the appointment would have been the height of discourtesy, and if there was one thing that Mrs. Stanley was not, she was not ill mannered—especially to those less fortunate than her.

However, "needy" would not be how she would describe this couple. The sum they were promised was just about the same amount of money she collected on a single fundraising effort. But just why she would even deign to allot them any kind of monetary gift was beyond her comprehension. Still, as a paragon of charity, she could understand why they would immediately consider her their benefactor. It was a reputation she had crafted with care, so she smoothed her features into a benign smile.

"I'm flattered that you think it might have been me," she said, looking down her nose. "But I'm afraid to disappoint you. Why not my niece? Wouldn't she be more likely to have given it to you?"

Dot said, "Well, ma'am, Miss Fisher has categorically denied it's come from her."

Hugh pulled the letter from his breast pocket and handed it to Mrs. Stanley. "This is the letter. The fact that it's typed means the writer either had access to a typewriter, or paid a typist in a secretarial pool to compose it. We also know the paper is exclusive. Except for Miss Fisher and perhaps you, no one we know has access to these things."

"Indeed, Constable, I should say not!" huffed Mrs. Stanley, and the jewel in her brooch glinted as angrily as the look in her eyes.

Dot and Hugh exchanged a look.

If Hugh was intimidated he did not let it show and smoothly persisted. "Perhaps you might recognize the handwriting on the signature? Anything you can tell about the letter would help us."

* * *

Just five minutes later, Dot and Hugh stood outside the front door, having been ushered out by the stern butler with a loud slam. The earlier downpour had stopped, and Mrs. Stanley's courtyard smelled of rich soil and the sweetness of freshly misted grass.

Back in the taxicab, Hugh started up the engine. "That went well, don't you think?"

"That was pointless," Dot grumbled, but felt relieved the visit was over. "We're back to where we started."

"No, not necessarily. I think we learned a lot from that visit. Did it ever occur to you that Miss Fisher's been playing us all along?"


	4. Chapter 4

When Dot was a little girl, she lacked discipline and had a general disregard for rules. In a household run by an oftentimes absent father and a harried mother, she was left only with her curiosity for company, exploring the streets of Melbourne and observing the people and activity around her. Finally, at her wit's end with what to do with such an inquisitive child, Dot's mother enrolled her in catechism classes under the strict and watchful eye of Father Grogan. Little by little, Dot's unruly ways were tamed in an environment of incense, ritual, and incantation. Her religious instruction included the application of what Father Grogan called the "fruits of the Holy Spirit." One of these was patience.

Dot was made to exercise that very virtue that afternoon, for Hugh had apparently decided that it was Miss Fisher who had given them their wedding gift and would enlighten her no more until later that evening. Hugh had hastily dropped her and the cab back at the mansion, and half-running back to the station, called out behind him, "I'll explain later!"

Dot frowned as she sat in her room, and looked at the carriage clock on her dressing table that told her there was another half hour until Hugh finished his shift. Her bedroom was comfortably furnished, with heavy dark furniture, a great four-poster bed, and high windows that faced the front entrance. She stood up now, flinging the shirt she'd been trying to mend unsuccessfully, and peered through her drapes, eyes searching for Hugh's familiar gait and dark, brass-buttoned coat. He better not be working overtime, she muttered, and decided to go downstairs to ring him.

"Oh Mr. Butler!" Dot cried, almost running into him over as he was closing the door to Miss Fisher's office. "Sorry, I didn't see you there."

"No harm done, Dot," he smiled, and he hastily clasped his hands behind his back. "So…have you come any closer to figuring out who your guardian angel is?"

"I'm not really sure."

"Why, what happened this afternoon?"

"Mrs. Stanley vigorously denied giving us any money. The way she talked, she made it sound like she would never in a million years even think about giving us a wedding gift like that."

Mr. Butler nodded sagely. "I can see what you mean."

"So Hugh thinks it must be Miss Fisher for sure," Dot went on. "I tried to work out how he must have come to that conclusion. He told me he thinks Miss Fisher steered us towards her aunt Prudence, likely to get us off her scent."

"Ah. He thinks Miss Fisher might have typed the note herself. Well, the paper that was used could have come from Miss Fisher's own personal stationery, true."

"Right. And we know that the note wasn't posted—you said yourself that you found it. And Burt and Cec said they didn't see anyone but you that morning, so either the person delivered it very, very early that day, or…the note came from someone in this house."

"Mmhm," said Mr. Butler, and then eyed Dot squarely. "But you're not convinced it's Miss Fisher, are you?"

"I'm trying to come around to the idea, but something tells me it's not her. I can't put my finger on it, though." She wrung her hands helplessly. "What do you think?"

He hesitated, and then said, "Dot, may I give you a piece of advice?"

"Of course, Mr. Butler," she replied eagerly. "You know I have a high regard for whatever you have to say."

Mr. Butler smiled appreciatively. "I think it really doesn't matter where this money came from, or whose paper it's written on. Whether or not it had come from Miss Fisher, or your friends, or even your families getting together to come up with that sum, it's clear that someone just really cares about you and Hugh, and wants only to help you get started on your new life together. Just thank whoever it is by being faithful, loving, and respectful partners to one another. That's what I think."

"I guess you're right," she said sheepishly. "Well, I'll go down to the kitchen to set another dinner plate for Hugh. I suppose I ought to give my husband-to-be the satisfaction of explaining how he solved this case."

"I am curious myself to know how he cracked it wide open, so I will join you both." The twinkle in Mr. Butler's eye was unmistakable.

She giggled. "Thank you…for giving me some perspective."

Mr. Butler watched as Dot retreated down the hall and the staircase, and then wrapped the typewriter ribbon cartridge he was holding in his hands into a clean white handkerchief. He wiped the tips of his fingers on the handkerchief's edges as he made his way towards his own room. The corners of his mouth curled up and he started to whistle softly, "Here Comes the Bride." And, as much of a cliché it might be, Mr. Butler rather liked the idea that "the butler did it."


End file.
